by Rucker, Shay
Zeus stroked his jaw. “I get to stay with you?”
“At least until this whole thing is resolved.”
His lips turned up in a kind of smug smirk-grin thing. He resembled both a devil and a god. Lord, what had she just committed herself to?
“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Zeus stated.
Sabrina rolled her eyes. Of course it did. Now she’d just have to be on constant guard in her own home.
* * * *
Basir sat across from Maxim, sipping Turkish coffee. The stuff resembles brown silt, Maxim thought as he watched the older man settle the demitasse cup on its saucer. It had been over two years since he’d seen Basir in person. Only eight years older than Maxim, Basir, even with the strands of gray in his hair, looked much younger than his age. He was vain and prideful, so he kept his body taut and slender, his hair well-groomed, his beard and mustache cropped short and meticulous. It all added to the illusion of agelessness. Basir liked to give the impression, to both enemies and allies, that he had been and would be around forever.
A member of the Consortium for over a decade and a half, Basir had managed the group’s activities in the Bay from his estate on the outskirts of Union City, California. He was a traditional man, if one did not look beneath his claims of honoring family and faith. He regularly used his spiritually enlightened persona to manipulate his subordinates and those too ignorant to know better. Years before, Maxim had heard one of Basir’s staff state that Basir was a “bad prophet,” not because he was corrupt or violent, but because he drank alcohol and behaved in ways with women not condoned by their religious teachings. Of course the man who had spoken against Basir had died violently not long after uttering those words. The dead man’s insight had reinforced Maxim’s long-standing irreverence toward people who proclaimed themselves the mouthpiece of God. Once a man of influence in his native land of Algeria, Basir commanded the same respect, if not more, from the people within his South Bay community, as well as across many other religious faiths.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Maxim said. “I didn’t want to show any disrespect by arriving to your area unannounced. As you may know, I was scheduled to attend the conference in London, but more urgent matters have called me here.”
“Can I be of assistance?” Basir asked. Maxim had the distinct impression assistance was the last thing Basir wanted to offer him.
“Thank you for your graciousness, but this is a situation I must handle myself.”
Basir nodded as if he understood. “It is good you attend to your responsibilities. It lets those around you know you are a man of worth.”
Maxim bowed his head once in thanks. “I will be here on personal business for the next few days. While I am here, I may even organize a benefit in San Francisco.”
“This is good,” Basir said, hesitated, then asked, “Is it to be a Consortium-sponsored event?”
Maxim contrived a chuckle. “No. I don’t have the luxury of indulging in such entertainments this trip, but I’m sure the men gathering in London are enjoying the privileges of membership as we speak.”
“Yes,” Basir agreed, contemplating Maxim with the cold-eyed regard of a snake in waiting.
Maxim returned the look with self-assurance. He couldn’t be intimidated by a mere look. The idea that he could was absurd. Basir obviously didn’t understand what it meant to be raised a Kragen.
“It’s a mystery that you would not be at your father’s side for this conference. There are many concerning matters he must face with the recent attacks on our holdings. I’m certain he is disappointed you are not there. A good son should stand by his father.”
Maxim’s father had never regarded him as a good son. Maxim certainly hadn’t regarded him as a good father. That Basir considered it his duty to scold Maxim was interesting. Was it Basir’s delusions of spiritual omnipotence that led him to believe they shared that kind of relationship?
“What I have found in this life is that a man must be his own man first. If not, he is destined to play the role of someone’s boy forever,” Maxim said, sinking deeper into the wing-backed chair, crossing his legs as he took a sip of the herbal tea that had been given to him. “How is Erani by the way? I thought to stop by and say hello to him while I’m in the Bay Area. Is he still in San Francisco?”
The reason Maxim didn’t miss the slight tightening around Basir’s eyes was because he had been watching for it. A direct hit, landed squarely at the heart of the other man’s pride. One day Maxim would pay heed to Reed’s advice and become less vindictive, but at moments like this it was nearly impossible. He was sure Reed would agree.
Basir motioned for the servant standing by the door. The man wore a top and pants of a fawn, linen-like material, with a head wrap to match. The wispy material moved fluidly around his body as he carried a tray of aperitifs toward them.
“So what business really brings the heir apparent of the Kragen empire to beautiful California?” Basir asked.
“My own.” There was nothing gained by allowing the other man to believe he had the power or the right to question Maxim’s actions.
Basir smiled slightly. “Ah. Your own.” He stood. “Well, I wish you success in all you do here and thank you for paying your respects. Please let me know if I can offer assistance in any way. Lamentably I have another appointment scheduled.”
Maxim stood, bowing slightly. “Thank you for your hospitality and for making the time to see me. If someone could escort me to a restroom, I will then be on my way.”
Basir motioned for the servant, and Maxim followed him from the room and down two halls that led deeper into the home’s interior. When they rounded a corner, Maxim stopped. “Can you please wait a moment? There is one bit of business I forgot to impart to your employer.”
The servant nodded and stood against the wall to wait as Maxim walked back the way he had come. Nearing Basir’s office, he heard voices—one Basir’s and the other he wasn’t able to identify. His father and a few other members of the Consortium were suspicious of Basir’s failure to attend the meeting in London. Especially since one of the three establishments exposed had been within Basir’s territory. There was a leak in the organization, and it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Basir would betray the Consortium if he believed his reasons just.
“…to have him monitored?”
“Yes, that is the order. It’s not that I don’t trust my young friend…just that I want to know what it is he does here…”
Maxim didn’t wait to listen to the rest of the conversation. He walked back down the hall until he came upon the servant who didn’t appear to have moved an inch from his post.
Maxim smiled at the attendant. “I was too late. I think his other appointment has arrived. I guess I’ll have my assistant leave him a message this evening.”
The servant proved to be less than interested. He led Maxim to the restroom and waved him inside.
Once outside, Maxim walked to the town car. Reed and Eddie leaned against it, talking low until they saw Maxim. Eddie walked around the front of the car, taking his position in the driver’s seat as Reed held the door to the backseat open for Maxim. When they were all settled inside and driving down the horseshoe-shaped carport toward the main road, Reed turned to him. “Everything go okay?”
“It went as expected. That is, until I heard Basir give an order to have me followed.”
“Sounds expected to me,” Eddie said. “From what I hear, the Algerian is perpetually paranoid.”
Maxim smiled. “Perpetually paranoid?”
“From what I hear.” The driver shrugged.
Maxim wanted to laugh, the first time he’d had the urge since finding the empty truck and no Sabrina. His driver’s humor was as dry as a desert stuck in summer.
“The teams made it to the Bay. I put them up at a house in San Mateo. We’re headed there,” Reed informed him.
“Good.” He would have his prize back in no time. “Reed, we need to
think about scheduling a benefit while we’re in the Bay Area.”
“A benefit?”
“Yes, I’m thinking maybe for missing persons or runaways.” In honor of Sabrina. “It could negate some of the negative press linked to the Consortium with the recent raids.”
“If nothing else, it could help distance the Kragen name from those corrupt members depraved enough to partake in criminal activities.”
They shared a moment of laughter.
“In my abbreviated time in Basir’s presence I realized how little cash-and-carry information I have on some of the members of the Consortium.” Maxim tapped the window as he reflected. “In Basir’s own words, ‘the heir apparent to the Kragen empire’ should know, beyond their awareness, the people he is working with. I want full financial, family, social, religious, and charitable contributions on all the higher-ups. And you can feel free to include any other information you deem pertinent to my understanding.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also, find out why Basir is not at the conference in London.” He faced forward. “Eddie, before we go meet the team, let’s take a trip to the Mission District. I haven’t seen my old friend Erani in many years.”
Eddie cocked an eyebrow as he peered at Maxim from the rearview mirror, nodding.
“I’m surprised Basir didn’t sanction some kind of honor killing against Erani once he came out as gay,” Reed said.
“Never underestimate the power of a woman,” Maxim said. “Basir’s wife is extremely fond of her youngest son, and as powerful as Basir is, there are some battles that are impossible to win. What’s happening with the photo?”
“It’s clean. No prints, no DNA. Digital camera and digital printer. Beyond that, we just have the image taken.”
“Reed,” Maxim said as they drove over the Dumbarton Bridge. “I need you to provide me with a distraction until Sabrina arrives. You know what I’m looking for.”
“Yes, sir,” Reed said as he tapped on his tablet’s surface, bringing up the database that identified locations of women in the Bay Area who resembled Sabrina. Maxim didn’t presume to understand how Reed had discovered and organized the same information the world over; however, he greatly appreciated Reed’s ingenuity and paid him well for it.
He’d made the right decision to come to California and retrieve Sabrina himself, Maxim thought. The weather in Union City was tropical despite the fact that it was the middle of winter. His woman had chosen well to move to the Bay Area. The apartment she lived in was just above common squalor, but the oceanfront house they would soon call home would suit her personality to perfection.
He grew hard as he thought of Sabrina and all the ways he would have her display her gratitude.
Chapter Four
She had good tits. Not perfect. They hung slightly lower than what he was used to dealing with, and showed a few faint stretch marks when she didn’t have her bra on, but they were full, firm. Definitely not perfect, but they would be just right for him. He relived the memory of the weight of them in his palm, the puckered, raisin-colored nipple peaked in greedy arousal, the just-right shape and size for his lips to suck, for his teeth to graze, bite.
He watched her through the thin shower curtain, perched on the edge of the bed with a hard-on powerful enough to puncture six inches of steel plating. He growled low in his throat, a desperately feral sound to his own ears. She was killing him. Never mind that it was his idea to sit on her badly made bed and watch through the open bathroom door as she showered.
He was looking out for her. It was his new role. He didn’t give a damn about the idiots upstairs who argued that he didn’t need to protect her while she was in Almaya’s house, that this new duty didn’t commence until they left the mountain.
The job began once he accepted it. That’s what he had made them understand before he followed her back down to her temporary bedroom.
He watched her silhouette as she rubbed her hands over those made-for-him breasts, over her flat stomach, down to the juncture between her thighs. It wasn’t until his chest burned that he remembered he had to breathe to stay alive. He gulped air then; he wouldn’t miss a moment of this. He gripped his erection, massaged it. He’d jacked off more in the last few hours than he had in the last four years. He promised his dick here and now, once he got her to her apartment, it would only be worshipped by the wetness of her core, her mouth. That was the only thing it deserved after displaying such extreme patience and restraint.
Sabrina chose that moment to bend over and lather soap onto her legs. He imagined himself behind her, hammering into her, one hand gripping her hip, controlling her position, and the other buried into her hair as he pulled her head back, the faucet above spurting water down over her face and head.
A strange sound he didn’t even want to contemplate escaped his mouth. It wasn’t a whimper because he hadn’t emitted such a weak sound since he was a six-year-old, beaten to near unconscious by some older neighborhood boys. This was more of a plea, a groan of defeat. He picked up his fisted pace.
He watched Sabrina work her hands back and forth against her pussy, deeper, slower…
“Fuck this,” he ground out, pulling his T-shirt over his head as he rose from the bed, fully prepared to work her over until every bit of tension was released within the heat of his cum.
Sabrina stood erect, stilled like a deer in the headlights, then whipped the shower curtain back as she peeked her head out to glare at him. His fingers danced. No blade. Her brown skin was radiant from the steam and heat and water. He needed to glide his hands over every inch of her skin as he fucked her.
“Don’t even think about leaving that bed. If you do, I swear to God I’ll convince Mama…I mean, Almaya, that it would be best to have someone else be my bodyguard.”
He didn’t care. He took a step.
“I swear I will.”
His world was turning red. Too many needs, too strong, thought disintegrating into—
“Zeus,” Sabrina called to him through the haze. “Do you have the black blade on you?”
It took him a moment to comprehend what she was asking him. He frowned. What kind of ridiculous question was that?
“Always have it,” he said, knowing the sound of his voice wouldn’t register as human to civilized ears. When the need hit strong, it was hard to remember he was a man, not a half-starved boy surviving whatever way he could, not a thing that had been made mostly animal.
“Tuck yourself back in, button up your jeans, and pull out your blade. I like the black one the best.”
“Why do you want it out?”
“I want you to teach me how to use a blade like you do.” She turned off the shower and reached for the towel. The same one he had used. He liked that she would be rubbing his scent into her skin. “You make using a knife look artistic. Like a dance. Plus, it’ll help take the edge off, right? Control the compulsion?”
“Yes.”
He zipped and buttoned his pants over his erection, and sat back on the bed, pulling the black blade from the sheath at the small of his back. He wasn’t sure if she thought he was an idiot to be patronized and placated, or if she genuinely wanted him to teach her how to work a blade. Ultimately, he thought, twirling the blade in his hand, it doesn’t matter. If she wanted to believe that she could manipulate him into behaving, he didn’t mind letting her. Sooner or later she’d see not even God himself could make him move in a direction he wasn’t willing to move in.
If she genuinely wanted to learn how to kill with a blade, he would train her. He was the best person to do it. He would teach her, she would learn, and in the end he would have her. The way she was fucking with his libido, it would definitely have to be more than once.
Sabrina stepped out of the bathtub with the sage-green towel wrapped around her. She walked to an area of the bathroom outside of the range of his vision, but he could hear her dressing.
“We have to get you your own blades,” he called out. He could get her a Bowie or a
push dagger, maybe a boot blade. Something that was a good size and weight for her. She liked his black dagger well enough. Maybe he’d get her one of her own. His heart did double-time. He had never contemplated getting a woman a blade before. It was like picking out the perfect diamond, the perfect wedding ring, but people got married all the time, got divorced just as often, so rings had lost their significance.
A good blade, though—he stroked the flat of his dagger—a good blade made your blood sing, like some enchanted treasure from a Grimm fairy tale. A good blade bonded with its owner, metal gleaming even brighter from the melding of human and metallic spirits.
He twirled the dagger through his fingers back and forth.
Pressure weighed on him. No buying a blade from a retailer. Maybe not even Dominic’s, his go-to man when he didn’t have time to forge his own, would do. Ultimately he’d have to create Sabrina some blades. The compulsion wouldn’t allow him to give her anything less than her soul’s reflection. He was sweating. It was a big deal making a blade for a woman, wasn’t it? Yes, because he didn’t do shit for women if he didn’t have to, unless it involved sex. But even that was mostly for him. She’d better appreciate this shit. He was thinking of giving her gifts and she hadn’t even had the grace to fuck him first. Trifling woman.
She stepped out of the bathroom, her moonstone pendant catching the light, appearing to wink at him seductively. She wore a wrecked pair of faded and frayed jeans, a pair of scraggly tennis shoes, and a short-sleeved, black Betty Boop T-shirt. On her, Bride’s clothes were tight. Sabrina was at least two sizes larger.
“I have to get home soon. I can’t breathe,” she said, pulling at the inside seams of the jeans, then the waistband. “I swear I’m going on a diet when I get back home. Damn bacon.”
“You stupid?”
At least the question stopped her from pulling on the clothing, trying to make space when there was none was to be had.
